Descendent of Hecate
by rhyejess
Summary: A chance encounter in Australia gives Annabeth a clue about the existence of the Wizarding World. Minor spoilers for Mark of Athena and The Demigod Diaries.


Hermione was too busy to notice at first that the book she'd grabbed off the counter at the coffee shop wasn't the one she'd brought in. She'd bought the title on international wizarding relations in a little shop in Sydney. The one she now carried was as heavy and old as the one she'd entered the coffee shop with, but only once she was on the bus did she look down to see the title: _Architecture in the Antiquity_. Her first thought was that it sounded like a very interesting topic, and she opened the book. As soon as she had, she knew she needed to return this book to its owner. Every spare space, every margin, the inside covers, even the spaces between the paragraphs- all of it was filled with doodles and drawings, rough drafts of blueprints, notes and more notes. This was not just a book: this was someone's _workbook_. The detail and skill in the blueprints convinced her it belonged to some architect and would be sorely missed.

Besides, she wanted her book on international wizarding policy back.

And so, when the bus turned the next corner, she popped out into the harsh and hot sunlight of downtown Sydney. She wasn't familiar with the city and knew just enough to get to and from the shopping district, the library, her hotel, and the wizarding hospital that was treating her parents. She hadn't ridden the bus far, though, and she could walk the three or four blocks back to the coffee shop without any trouble.

*****

_Percy,_

I'm glad you talked me into coming here with my dad. You're right- it has been nice to spend some time just the two of us without my little brothers or step-mom. I skipped my dad's talk at the University since I've heard it before, but I have enjoyed seeing the city. You should have come. I mean, I know I could never convince you to fly so far, but we should have figured something out. The beach is amazing. The water is this clear perfect blue and the waves are huge. Even the Nereids here seem more beautiful, and they're very friendly. I suppose it makes sense, but I was surprised to hear their Australian accents the first time they started a conversation with us.

In fact... maybe it's better you aren't here. They might be a bit too friendly.

The weather here has been great though. Miss you! I hope you are enjoying your winter weather.

Love,  
Annabeth.

*****

Hermione walked back into the coffee shop and looked around. Here in the middle of the afternoon it was nearly abandoned, but it was close enough to the University that she imaged her book belonged either to an Architecture or a Classics professor- probably the former if the blueprints in the margins were any indication. She scanned the shop for anyone who might look like the type and saw no one. The only people here were a mother with three little children and one blonde teenage girl. She thought for a moment of how greatly she missed her own children and hoped that Ron hadn't managed to blow the house up yet. Hermione was about to return the book to the cashier when she noticed that her own book was sitting on the teenager's table. Hermione approached.

"Sorry," Hermione said to the girl, "I must have left my book here." She reached for it.

Despite the fact that the girl's head was buried behind a laptop and her fingers were typing furiously, she did not seem surprised or at all caught off guard by Hermione's approach. The teen looked up and her haunting gray eyes evaluated Hermione before she answered in a flat American accent, "You have _my_ book. Thank the gods."

Hermione considered the tome in her hands for a moment. "The architecture one?"

"Yes," the girl answered. "It's mine, and this one on... on..." she squinted as if she were having trouble making out the title and then asked, "What _is_ this book on, anyway?"

"Oh, just a bit of fiction really," Hermione laughed. She took the opportunity to grab the wizarding book quickly off the table and replace it with the volume on Architecture.

"You're British," the girl said. Hermione was glad that the teen wasn't going to pursue the topic of the wizarding book any further.

"Yes. Very impressive. Most Americans can't tell Australian accents from English ones."

The teen's brows wrinkled together. "Oh. The vowels sound entirely different."

"Yes, I think so," Hermione agreed, smiling. She had some time to kill and this girl seemed pleasant enough, so she pulled out the nearest chair and took a seat at the small coffee shop table. "I haven't introduced myself properly. I'm Hermione."

The girl's eyes lit up, growing wide at the sound of Hermione's name. Hermione was somewhat used to this; her name was unusual. The girl closed her laptop and offered her hand. "The daughter of Helen of Troy!"

"You are?" Hermione asked, charmed by the girl's whimsy.

"No, you are!" the girl said. "Or rather, Hermione is. Was. Hermione was nine years old when her mother ran off with Paris and started the Trojan War. Hermione was named after the god Hermes, actually. Are you Greek?" She seemed to be hanging on the answer very carefully.

"No, British," Hermione answered, feeling they had already covered this ground. "Sorry, I missed your name?"

"Oh. Annabeth."

"You know a lot about the classics," Hermione remarked, remembering the book.

"I'm Greek," the girl answered, as if anyone from Greece would know the mythos of the Trojan War in great detail.

"I thought you were American," Hermione countered.

"My mother is Greek, my father is American," the girl- Annabeth- clarified.

"So you must have grown up with your father?"

"No," Annabeth answered curtly. She did not elaborate but instead stared at Hermione a moment longer. "Were you named after someone? Like Hermes?"

"Actually I was named for the character in Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_."

"I haven't read Shakespeare," Annabeth admitted, "But thank you for returning my book."

"Did you do the drawings in there?"

Hermione couldn't have said exactly clues her in, but Annabeth's demeanor suddenly changed. Though the girl had been somewhat dodgy and tight-lipped, now she became suspicious. She was hugging her architecture book tightly to herself. "It's a hobby," she answered sharply. Hermione got the distinct impression that Annabeth wasn't used to letting others see her drawings.

"You're quite good," Hermione offered by way of a peace offering.

"Thank you." Annabeth smiled as she answered, but the tense expression did not hold the same enthusiasm as it had previously.

"Well," Hermione stood, "I have to be off. It was nice meeting you, Annabeth."

"You too." Annabeth waved goodbye, but the act seemed forced, as if Annabeth was eager to be left alone with her book and laptop. Hermione didn't know much about computers, but she knew what it was like to want to be left to study, so she was happy to oblige.

*****

_Percy,_

Some woman just came up to me in the coffee shop. I'd accidentally picked up her book and she'd picked up mine on architecture. Thank the gods that she returned it- it was the one with all the Olympus designs and also the ones I'm working on for New Rome. I know they haven't asked us to help rebuild but I thought since we're the ones who blew them up we should do something to help. Anyway, I couldn't quite make out the title of the book she left- it was in gold and some weird font and you know how that goes. But she said it was fiction and I'm positive she was lying. She was British, which is relevant, because I'm sure the book mentioned wizards and didn't Chiron say something about a war between Hecate's children in England? You probably don't remember, but I'm telling you- he did. She seemed nice, but I got the feeling she was definitely a descendent of Hecate- maybe not a direct child but possibly a grandchild or something. After Alabaster led Hecate's children against the Olympians, I do not trust them. Remind me to talk to Chiron about this when I get home.

You're probably going to say I'm over-thinking things, but how would you know? The space between your ears is filled with sand.

Yours,  
Annabeth.


End file.
